Would Smell As Sweet
by rhythm junkie
Summary: This is a sex!pollen fic, written for a prompt on the 007 kinkme. The prompt can be found at the beginning of the fic.


**I OWN NOTHING.**

**Written for this prompt: I think we all know Q department would totally be mixing up some aphrodisiacs for the 00's to use (or maybe even just for science). I want Q accidentally dosed and Bond being all gentlemanly and trying to help him through it without doing anything that Q may regret later. Meanwhile, Q is very much in favour of climbing Bond like a tree and having him every way he can.**

* * *

"Making something pretty for me, Q?"

There was a tinkle as the capsule crushed like frost in Q's fingertips, and Bond was six feet away with his jacket over his nose before he'd had time to think about it. He thought he saw a small puff of powder, there and gone in a second.

"Bugger."

Q didn't say more than that but Bond saw the quick hunch of his shoulders and the sudden stillness in his limbs.

"Do we have a hazard alert on our hands, Q?" Bond asked, already moving to the Biohazard Evac alarm. Q gave a quick shake of his head.

"Not for anyone else, 007."

"What was in the capsule, Q?"

Q seemed to shake himself, fluid like water, and the Quartermaster was back. Bond watched as he dusted off his fingers and marched toward his workbench, noting that he kept himself carefully angled away from Bond's gaze.

"You should leave, 007." Q's voice was clipped and businesslike. "Hit the IsoLock on your way out. I should be contained for at least forty-eight hours."

"What was in the capsule, Q?"

"Go to Tanner, let him know that I am out of action and he'll need to appoint a temporary for the time being." Q was fiddling with something that looked like computer guts, and Bond didn't miss the fine tremble to in his hand. "Go to M afterwards. He'll have to…"

Q juddered to a halt, fingers twitching, when Bond laid an unyielding hand on his shoulder. If there was anything Bond hated more than being shot at, it was someone evading his questions. It was part of his training – always get the answer you're after.

"The capsule, Q."

Oddly, Q shuddered before dragging in a deep breath and seeming to force himself still through sheer will. Bond kept his hand where it was, just in case the Quartermaster got any funny ideas.

"It was a compound we've been working on for 003."

Bond sighed. He knew the kind of missions 003 specialised in. He hadn't been aware that MI6 had expanded into organics but it wasn't a surprise. Bond squeezed Q's shoulder when it proved he had no intention of continuing and felt his eyebrows shoot up when the Quartermaster let out a short, bitten-off moan.

"Q?"

"It contains a mix of mild barbituates and a drug that the MoD has been working on for a while now." To most, Q would sound the same as always but Bond had had that voice in his ear often enough that he could detect the hints of stress in the tone. "The drug is strong enough that tiny quantities induce the desired effects in the recipient. Right under the nose and…"

"Q!"

Q jerked forward and for a minute Bond was afraid he'd bitten clear through his tongue in his haste to stop talking. The tremors Bond had noticed in Q's hands were now evident in the shoulder under his hand. The skin on the back of Q's neck had turned a dusky pink, almost as if Q was…flushing. Bond had an idea where this was going but he asked the obvious anyway.

"Explain the effects of the capsule."

"Heightened libido, 007," Q replied curtly.

Bond pressed on Q's shoulder, harder when Q resisted, until he caved to persistence and turned, although his eyes remained averted. Q's face was flushed yet the exposed skin of his neck and wrists showed signs of gooseflesh. The trembling seemed to have spread rapidly, ticking beneath his skin and his pupils, when Bond ducked his head to catch a glimpse, were blown wide.

"Bond, you need to leave. Now." Q's voice was strained as he tried to shrug out from under Bond's hand. Bond, because he was a stubborn bastard, kept his hand exactly where it was. He wrapped his other around Q's bicep for good measure. Q's trembling morphed into a slow rolling shudder, and he moaned again before shoving a fist into his mouth to muffle any further sound.

"Explain the effects properly, Q," Bond demanded.

"Elevated dopamine production, increased adrenalin levels, elevated serotonin and a whole slew of endorphins."

Q was panting around the fist still stuffed in his mouth, face beading with sweat, but it was the last part of his answer that clued Bond in to how serious the situation was. He'd never known Q to give a short answer when there was the possibility of a textbook. Bond tightened his grip.

"And that means?"

Q wasn't far enough gone that he couldn't throw a good glare…yet. Reflexively Bond winked at the expression. Q leaned into him, body hot and shaking, before tearing out of Bond's grip and almost hurdling the workspace.

"You need to leave." Q's voice was high and panicked. He looked cornered as Bond took a deliberate step forward.

Something shivery and warm slid through Bond's muscles and he shook his head. Q's face was the oddest mix of frustrated anger and filthy longing. The shivery feeling spread, tingling across his chest and down his arms. Bond knew what it meant – his protectiveness had kicked in. He gave Q a long look, catalogued the distress evident there, and planted his feet firmly as if Q would have a shot at physically removing him from the lab. When Q whined, head shaking from side to side, looking for some sort of escape, Bond marched over to the lab door and hit the IsoLock.

"I'm not going anywhere, and now neither are you."

Q let out a truly desperate sound, his whole body sinking in on itself, and Bond followed instinct, stepping forward until he was close enough to lay a hand on Q's forearm. Q's eyes snapped to him and it was years of training that kept Bond neutral-faced in the wake of the most vociferous want he'd ever seen in someone's expression.

"You mustn't touch me," Q whispered in a low, sweet note at odds with the way he hunched away from Bond like he was expecting to be struck.

Bond wanted to push. Wanted to crowd in and comfort Q, make him talk, just _hold_ him. Q's confliction seemed to be feeding Bond's. It was infuriating. But it was what it was. Bond had been here when it happened, and he'd be here until it ended.

"007, your palm print is showing activation on the Q-branch IsoLock. What's going on?"

M's voice, tinny through the built-in lab speakers, surprised Bond out of his reverie. He moved to the Evac phone, blew off the thin layer of dust that clung to the handset, and lifted it from its cradle.

"Report, 007." The words were clipped and not a question.

"There has been a minor accident in Q-branch," Bond began, falling into protocol like slipping on a second skin. "Q has been compromised by some sort of limited radius airborne toxin. He has assured me that it's not a threat to anyone else. I've isolated him until the threat has been dealt with."

There was unexpected silence on the other end of the phone, nothing but M's breathing, not even typing. If Bond was the kind to be affected by nerves, now would be about the time they were kicking in.

"Are you affected, 007?"

"I am not."

"Then why are you on the wrong side of an IsoLock for the next twelve to twenty-four hours, with a compromised employee arguably more equipped to cope with such a breach?"

"I wasn't leaving him alone."

Bond had neither the vocabulary nor the desire to explain the urge that had welled up in him when Q had begun shaking. He'd failed in his promise to Severine (_and before_, the darkest part of his mind whispered, _and before, 007_). He had no intention of allowing failure here.

"Don't you think there were better options?"

"No." _Yes._

M sighed, a tight, fast sound that Bond had learned within a minute of their first official meeting meant that there would be consequences. Bond shook it off – when were there not?

"What was Q working on?"

"Some compound for 003."

There was a noise from M's side of the conversation that sounded suspiciously like a telephone hitting a desk before being scrabbled back into a, now sweat-slick, hand.

"Shit."

The word enough was enough to startle Bond without the extra level of this-is-not-good added by M's unnerved tone. Bond steeled his shoulders against the threat, whatever it was, aware that M had to be watching him on the security feed by now. His drew his 00 status around himself like a cloak and waited.

"Do you know what was in the compound?" M sounded a little faint. Bond's heart began to pound.

"Barbituates and an MoD special, as I understand it."

"It's…rather more complicated than that, 007."

"How much more complicated?"

M hissed in his ear, murmuring something quickly to someone who was not Bond.

Bond became aware of a low keening noise that had been going on in the background for a while now. His brain had tuned it out, waiting for information and/or instructions, but now it was at a level deemed 'important'. He shifted, trying to catch a glimpse of Q, perform a visual check to ensure all was well.

All was not well.

Q was sprawled half across his desk, almost flopping out of his chair. His normally crisp appearance had been ruined by the way he was clawing his clothing away from his body, shirt and cardigan rumpled and rucked. His face was flushed and his mouth was parted around low, sobbing moans that rose to a keening crescendo before sliding back into sub-vocal whimpers that started the climb all over again.

"Bond…"

"I have to go."

"Have Q access the capsule files," M squeaked through the earpiece as Bond returned it to its cradle. "The codename is Mata Hari."

Aware that he was being watched, Bond was careful not run to Q's side, but he did move with haste.

"Q?"

Bond didn't touch the Quartermaster, didn't have to. He could feel the heat radiating from Q's skin from a foot away. Skin that was oddly dry, where Bond would have expected the light sweat from earlier to have turned into a full-blown slickness. It was still flush a light blood-pink, which managed to be both alluring _and_ look almost painful in the same breath.

"Q?"

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Q was whining into his arm between whimpers, his hands flexing and clawing uselessly at the wood of the desk beneath him.

"Q, I need to see the files on the Mata Hari capsule."

For a second it seemed as though Q hadn't heard him, or was beyond responding, but his fingers flexed once and, so slowly, he dragged a pinkie to the console at his elbow Bond had mistook for a mobile phone. A few taps and words were scrolling on the monitors. Bond sat down and skim-read as fast as he could, trying to ignore the way Q was shifting behind him, uttering little hurt-sounding stutter-moans that had Bond almost flinching.

By the time he reached the end of the 'Effects and Requirements' section, Bond felt his entire brain was blinking like a broken light. He swivelled to stare at Q, plastered to his desk just to feel something against his skin, and swallowed thickly.

"Fuck."

Q swivelled his head towards the sound and his eyes, when they met Bond's, were wide circles of black. His lips were pinked with blood, ragged around the edges where it was obvious he had been biting them. Bond swallowed hard and Q's lust-sharp gaze followed the movement with avid interest.

In a move much faster than Bond would have credited him given the state he seemed to be in, Q rolled his body off the table in a sinuous move that landed him at Bond's feet, where he proceeded to climb into Bond's lap, legs on either side of Bond's thighs and face pressed into the sweet spot underneath Bond's jaw.

"Oh fuck," Bond choked in a far more breathless way than he would have liked. It took him a few long seconds to recall his training, and the fact that they definitely had a remote audience, to get his arms around Q and control the writhing body pressed against him. Q whined and rolled his hips and Bond near swallowed his tongue.

Dragging in a deep breath, he lifted Q's body and managed, with no grace at all, to swing them around until Q was sitting in Bond's lap, facing his wall of computers. Q meeped a needy little noise that made Bond clench his fingers into the thighs in his grasp, and ground back into Bond's crotch.

"Pull it together Q," he murmured into the agitated Quartermaster's ear, "and do exactly what I tell you to. Can you do that?"

Q breathed shakily, stomach fluttering against the tight band of Bond's forearm, then nodded, hair dragging across Bond's lips, before rolling his head up until it was almost looking straight ahead, rather than lolled in a way that flashed the pale column of his throat like a treat.

"I need you to cut the audio and visual fields to this room," Bond said, unable to stop himself allowing his mouth just the barest touch on Q's cheek. Q shuddered in his arms, losing focus, but Bond tightened his forearm and brought him back down again. "Now, Q."

As soon as Q's hands begun flying across the keyboard, M's voice filled the space around them, tinny and frantic.

"Bond! What's going on? We're losing visuals. Bond!"

"I think Q deserves a little privacy for this," Bond answered, eyes remaining firm on Q's travelling fingertips.

"This is a unique opportunity for us to study the…"

M cut out halfway into his outraged tirade and Q slumped in Bond's arms, forehead resting gently on the keypad where his hands had been. His hands had relocated to Bond's thighs, rubbing in a light but maddening way.

"We're definitely off-grid?" Bond asked, glancing at the cameras, and Q huffed a laugh, as pained as it sounded.

"I may be compromised 007, but I am still me."

Bond took a moment to admire the long stretch of Q's back, arched as it was into the console, and the lovely way it sunk his arse into the cradle of Bond's hips, a perfect spread of weight and pressure over thighs and against groin.

"If I'd left you, you would have died." Bond broke the silence, voice flat, staring at the back of Q's neck and trying not to think about how much he wanted to press his teeth there, and how he would soon get the chance to.

"No."

"Yes," Bond snapped, twisting from seductive to seething in an instant, "I read the breakdown and you would have died."

"I had a contingency plan," Q murmured, low and almost flirtatious, accented by the way he had started to, ever so slightly, press his arse forward on Bond's thighs and back into his groin. Bond could feel the way Q's whole body was quaking with need.

"Dying is not a contingency plan."

"Clearly," he managed in retort, before letting out a little moan and shoving back harder, rubbing his arse up, arching the base of his spine a little, looking for the sweet spot. Bond bit his tongue to keep his head in the game.

"Q!"

"I was going to contact M and have him send down 003," Q gasped out. "No point in wasting a research opportunity."

Bond's vision went red with a flare of protectiveness and jealously so potent that his whole body clenched with it. His thighs jostled Q's body in a way that made the Quartermaster's hands scrabble for purchase before Bond laid a heavy arm across his thighs, hooked his other arm under his torso and dragged him upright.

"You were going to let 003 fuck you for research?"

Either Q was oblivious to the danger in Bond's voice or he was too far gone to care because all he did was pant breathlessly, arching back into Bond's body, mouth parted, begging with every inch of himself.

Bond dumped him on the floor before stalking to the far corner of the lab where he knew they kept the never-used lab coats. He gathered up an armful but stopped dead on turning back around, arrested by the sight of Q on his knees, crawling towards him, face cracked wide with craving.

He dumped the lab-coats in a pile in the corner furthest from doors and windows, then hauled Q's body from the floor and dumped him on top of them. The Quartermaster lay amongst the disarray, wide-eyed and still writhing, plaintive grumbles low in his throat, as Bond began methodically stripping himself of his clothing.

"Shush now," he muttered as Q's voice raised in pitch, "I'll be taking care of you. Just shush now, I've got you."

Q had gone dumb with longing under Bond's attentions, and Bond bent down to uncurl his fingers from where they were digging through clothes and into his skin. He catalogued all of Q's responses and tried to pair them up with what he'd read about the effects of the capsule.

"You've gone too long without stimulation," Bond said while his hands freed Q's body from the confines of his oddly-old clothing. Bond knew the function of such clothing, especially on one with as baby face as Q, but it still made him wonder what Q would look like dressed age-appropriately. Or would he stick out in jeans in a t-shirt, in the same way that he looked perfectly at home in shirts and cardigans?

Bond stroked Q's exposed chest with one hand as he mused, Q arching against his fingertips, and undid Q's belt with his free hand, tugging those long legs clear of material, hands as swift and efficient as ever.

Bond allowed himself to loom over the naked Quartermaster for a long moment, just enjoyed the position, the contrast in their bodies and the way Q's everything strained upwards, seeking touch, before letting himself drop on top of the twisting body.

Q sobbed at the contact.

"Shhh," Bond whispered into his ear, letting himself lick the shell just a little, just to feel Q's whip-sharp twist that shoved their naked groins together. Bond allowed it a moment, let Q tilt his hips up from the pile of lab-coats and rub frantically, gripping and grunting, before Bond tipped his body out of reach.

Q sobbed again, this time out of frustration.

"I have to keep your heart rate up for at least sixty minutes," Bond replied at Q's attempts to claw him back into contact, "and I am older than I used to be. If I go off now, it'll ruin the whole keeping you alive aspect."

Q's voice was a rough whisper that Bond had to lean close to hear, "_I want, I want, I want_," a rogation falling from his lips that turned Bond's blood hot and swirling beneath his exposed skin.

Bond leaned back and flipped Q over, guiding him until he was on his knees, face and chest mashed into the lab-coat pile, thighs wide for Bond to kneel between and arse at the perfect height for Bond to worship.

Bond stroked down Q's back, feeling the skin tremble under his palms, and over the swell of his arse so that there were no surprises when he parted the cheeks to open Q wide to him. Q juddered and Bond licked his thumb and circled the tight furl of him in response.

"I'm going to fuck you so good," he hummed against Q's arse, before licking the skin there and biting just hard enough to rosy a little patch with teeth. "I'm going to take you apart, Q."

With that, Bond went to work, pressing his face right to the centre of Q and letting his tongue loose on his Quartermaster's dusky clench, pulling back after a few minutes to commit to memory the way it was pinking under his insistent attention. Q was babbling into his arms, knees shaking with the force of his arousal, but Bond simply hooked his arm around Q's hips and hauled back, dragging the pinked furl harder onto his tongue, going savage for it. Q tried to squirm away, whining about _too much_, but Bond held him in a rigid clinch, wriggling and jabbing until his tongue pierced inside.

Q howled at the feeling but Bond, single-minded in what he wanted now, just shoved his face in harder, breaching the panting Q deeper, licking and shoving until all he was aware of was the soft heat of Q around his tongue and the high-low grunts of Q in his ears.

Tight in where he wanted to be, Bond allowed his free arm to lift from its death-grip on Q's thigh and run the length of his back until fingertips tangled with the sleek hair at Q's nape. Bond held him from both ends, controlling his body, keeping Q right _there_, taking his fill.

When his tongue was tender and his face felt wet and sensitive, only then did Bond loosen his grip on Q, allowing the whimpering man some modicum of movement. Q was crying, great shuddering intakes of breath that left him in juddery stops and starts, everything except where Bond had been working clenched tight.

Bond took a moment to just admire it, the way Q was just _destroyed_, before helping him over onto his back with gentle touches in just the right places. Spread beneath him, Q's face was blotchy and wet, his shoulders and chest unevenly pink and his cock almost purple with the force of its hardness.

Bond tapped at Q's nose until his watery eyes opened and focussed, then he allowed a rare, genuine smile to play across his face. Q deserved it.

"Just lovely," he nosed into Q's ear, before biting that pale neck like he'd wanted to when Q had been wanton in his lap. Q's breath hitched, and his shoulders spasmed as Bond spread Q's thighs further open then sucked his own fingers. Wide eyes watched Bond's hand trail down until it disappeared between their bodies, a tight gasp indicating Q had not missed Bond's fingertip trailing his tongue-loosened furl.

"We'll have to do this raw I'm afraid," Bond said against Q's lips as he wriggled a finger into the tight space between Q's buttocks, moving with Q's undulations, pressing until he was in. "I wasn't expecting a rescue fuck today, so I came underprepared."

Bond did it as quickly as he could, knowing taking it easy wouldn't make much difference without slick. He kept his fingers as wet as he could but it was still a tight fit forcing three into Q as Q almost convulsed around them.

"Try to relax, come on," Bond grunted, licking Q's ear, his neck, the corner of his mouth as his body pressed Q's down flat, hand working insistently between Q's legs, trying to open him sufficiently to avoid the strangulation of Bond's cock.

Bond did his best to slick himself up, but it was always going to be a losing battle. The initial penetration was fraught, both of them sweating, and Q yelping hurt-sounding little yips that had Bond gritting his teeth and trying to rock a little faster, trying to get the first stretch over with.

When he was finally balls-deep, Q screw-eyed and panting against and around him, Bond's whole body felt lit up like a live wire. It had been a long time since he'd done this, longer still since he'd done it with anyone who wasn't a mark, and he'd forgotten just how different the sensation was. He'd forgotten the exquisite pain of being held inside something that was just a touch too tight. He'd forgotten the soft press of muscled thigh, and the way sweat and skin slid together. He'd forgotten the beauty of being wrapped up in all that maleness, with wet breath against his neck and a hard body in his arms.

"Almost over now," he tried, licking Q's whitened lips until they parted and let him dip inside, just briefly. "Nearly done and then you'll be right as rain."

Q made a sort of incredulous noise in the back of his throat, but before he could snap at Bond's use of ridiculous cliché, Bond took the opportunity to pull back, groaning at the way Q's body tugged and clung to him, and slide back in again. Q tensed and Bond winced at the pressure on his cock, forcing himself still until Q eased up, then repeating the process.

Somewhere between pulling out and pushing back in, between Q's high yips and Bond's teeth in Q's shoulder, Q went pliant in Bond's arms, lifting to meet thrusts, head tipped back, mouth parted, eyes closed in hot pleasure.

"Oh fuck," Bond gritted, sliding an arm under Q just above his arse, lifting him to allow better thrusting, "fuck, just like that Q, that's perfect, your body is so perfect for this."

He kept pushing, lost in the rhythm of it, the way Q's body rolled in response and Q's voice lifted and fell with the rock of them, and his orgasm came up hard and fast, pulling a low roar from Bond's throat as he clawed Q's body closer, thrusting through it, the slip-slide of them suddenly eased with Bond's release.

When Bond finally came down, shaking and groaning, Q was still trying to thrust, body tight and wet with need, hands clawing at Bond's arms. Bond pulled out and slid down the pale body until he engulfed Q's cock in his mouth in one swallow. Seconds later, hands buried in Bond's hair like they would never come out, Q made a wretched sound and flooded Bond's mouth.

Lips still wet with Q's release, Bond crawled up and collapsed alongside Q's shivering body, hauling him close and slinging limbs across him to offer both body heat and the anchor Bond suspected he needed. Q rolled into Bond's body, face slack from pleasure and began babbling.

"Though about all of it…you on your knees…you making me get to my knees…sucking you off under my desk while you were debriefing M…keeping you on a leash and making you crawl…"

Bond's brain sagged under the onslaught of Q voicing every single dirty thought he'd ever had that included Bond, and some that didn't, before it dredged the Mata Hari document. Bond took a moment to appreciate just how well the drug worked before he rolled back on top of Q, tilting until his ear was at the Quartermaster's mouth so that he didn't miss any of the good stuff spilling from it, and laughed breathlessly as his cock disproved his earlier lack of stamina claim.

"What."

There was no inflection to the word, save Bond's moue of distaste, hand crumpling around the email printout in a way that had M flinching a little.

"Q has the right to request…"

"No."

"Bond," M began, but Bond was already gone, a sweep of ice-cold fury leaving behind nothing but a slammed door and a flustered Eve.

Three hours later, after Bond had acquired the necessary equipment, he stood in the doorway of Q's office, watching the gentle bend of the Quartermaster's spine as he concentrated on something his body hid from Bond's sight. The last time he'd seen Q, the Quartermaster has been scrambling from the liberated lab clutching his ruined clothing together with weak fingertips, while M was pointedly not-yelling at Bond about his involvement in the situation. Other than one mission, during which he was a controlled voice in Bond's ear, Q had been avoiding him.

He jumped and turned when Bond thumped the door closed, locking it and reaching out to activate the black-out blinds but, to Q's credit, he stayed in place as Bond stalked forward until the tips of his shoes touched the tips of Q's.

"What is this."

Q offered a bare glance at the crumpled wad of high-grade printer paper before his mouth turned down a little in a way that made Bond _furious_with the urge to lick at it. Feelings like that had been turning up in relation to Q with alarming frequency since the capsule incident. Bond set his jaw tight in response.

"You can read," was Q's cool response but his eyes wouldn't quite meet Bond's, and there was a definite pink tinge to his cheekbones that made Bond flash back to a more visceral moment they had shared.

"You're not dropping me."

That got Q's attention. The Quartermaster straightened, his face twisting in anger before he could hide it behind a veil of professionalism.

"I will do exactly that," he hissed, eyes flashing. Bond licked his lips and Q startled before turning his face away with an air of practiced nonchalance. "You do not need me for missions, 007. I'll still be the one weaponising you but anyone can guide you."

"This is about the Mata Hari capsule and quite frankly…"

Q cut him off with something that sounded close to a snarl, body closer and fingers twisted in Bond's lapels.

"I remember everything," he bit out, "every humiliating second. I'm glad that you can move on like it's nothing 007, but I don't have your training so I have to use other methods to minimise the impact."

Bond unhooked Q's fingers and took a step away from the heaving Quartermaster. Q's struggle to get himself under control was both visible and painful to witness. Bond nodded once, almost to himself, before fishing a capsule out of his jacket pocket and holding it up between finger and thumb. Q's eyes followed the movement and stuck there.

"You don't work in organics Q," Bond said, eyes on the capsule pressed between the pads of his fingertips. "I never understood what you were doing with the compound in the lab."

"I am responsible for the vessel holding the powder," Q murmured, making it clear that a great deal more than half of his attention was focussed on what Bond was holding. Bond was watching Q's face, which is why he saw the moment the Quartermaster's eyes went flat. "Enjoyed yourself that much?"

What?"

Ordinarily Bond wasn't a stupid man, not by a long chalk, but the sudden turn in Q's attitude threw him for a loop.

"I must say 007, I didn't think this would be your style."

When Bond untangled Q's meaning a long minute later, he allowed his fury at such an accusation show plain on his face. His arm twitched as he stared Q down, until all the tight mortification slid out of Q's body and he slumped against the edge of his desk.

"I should think," Bond said icily, "that I would not need to coerce anyone into my bed."

"Then why are you here?" Q's own voice was heavy with weariness. Bond knew about the rumours that were rife after the 'incident', still were, and it bothered him to see how much it was affecting Q. Bond remained silent until Q was forced to look at him and, with a deliberate flick of his wrist, he broke the capsule beneath his nose, inhaling sharply.

"Levelling the field."

"What the hell, Bond?" Q yelped, dragging his arm down from his face but it was too late. Bond could feel the effects of the compound hitting him, a slow, easy crawl into his blood, warm at the moment but Bond knew it would begin rising soon enough.

As Q watched with something close to shock and not a million miles from wonder, Bond raised his already-trembling hands and shrugged off his jacket, laying it over the back of Q's chair, followed by his tie. As he unbuttoned his shirt, he raised an eyebrow.

"Might want to hit the IsoLock Q." He smiled through the roar under his skin. "You're going to be busy for the next few hours."

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**Thank you for reading**


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